


Mine

by beltainefaerie



Series: As You Are [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, BDSM, D/s, Dom John, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Masochism, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Submission, Romance, collaring, consensual sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9271259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: An unorthodox wedding night where John formally collars Sherlock.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another from my archives finally finished up! I am back to writing a little every day and trying to finish up a pile of fics I've started ages ago. I should be posting at least one thing every month if all goes according to plan.
> 
> This is an extra for As You Are. It will make the most sense if you have read that first. In case you haven't, Sherlock is a masochist, John is a loving sadist and they fell in love. Paddles are a punishment tool for Sherlock, not a fun toy, which is referenced obliquely in this fic.
> 
> I tend to rate BDSM as mature even when there is no sex, in case you are wondering about the rating. There is lots of sensual touching and kisses, but Sherlock is not interested in sex and their established, exclusive, romantic relationship does not include it. 
> 
> Thanks to humshappily and conductoroftardislight for betaing!  
> \---

They’d alternately loved and suffered through the wedding planning. They’d gotten past the venue selection (tedious), catering planning (endurable despite the Holmes family bickering), cake selection (definitely one of the best bits). They’d even managed to get to the final fittings at the tailors despite the last few cases. There was the inevitable deducing of the RSVP cards and the frankly disastrous table arranging, where they’d been attempting the seating chart and Sherlock was getting far too carried away with deduction and inference about how the conversations would go and whose marriages were likely to end if this person was seated next to so and so, before John finally said “Sod this,” and handed that bit completely over to Mummy Holmes and the wedding planner.  

It had been quite a whirlwind, but there was only one week to go. They were actually doing this. John smiled and glanced up at Sherlock. 

Mind palace or nap? Hard to tell from this angle, facing the back of the couch as he was, mop of tousled curls looking inviting. It made John want to go over and bury his fingers in them and tug just to hear Sherlock’s breathy moan of pleasure. Doubly so with the pale sliver of shoulder visible where the dressing gown had slipped, dipping lower with the rise and fall of his breathing. God, he was beautiful. 

Still, if he was napping it wouldn’t do to disturb that. Hadn’t gotten much sleep lately. They were supposed to be taking it easy as they got ready for the wedding, but of course you can’t be Sherlock Holmes and turn down a 7. Moreso when it turned into a 9 while they were on scene. They’d spent the better part of the last week solving it, so Sherlock needed his rest before Mycroft stopped by with some paperwork, thankfully not having time to stay and chat, though of course he was looking in on them. Otherwise he would have sent one of his lackeys. All of it was something to do with inheritance laws and the family trust.  

John turned back to his book and enjoyed twenty or so minutes of reading, getting nearly to the climax of the latest Bourne novel when Sherlock broke in with, “Does it ever bother you?” his voice half muffled in the sofa cushions.

John looked up from his book, setting his teacup aside for the moment. “Sherlock, did you start this conversation without me again? You’ve been in your head all morning. Thought you might actually be resting. No luck there, I guess.”

Sherlock sat up from where he was laying on the sofa, scrubbing his hand over his face before clarifying. “That other people have had me, John, and you haven’t.”

“I have you in all the ways we want,” John said mildly.

“Not all the ways _you_ want, though. And other people have.”

“Is this some misguided attempt to make me jealous? Or angry?” John smiled, indicating that it wasn’t working if that was Sherlock’s  goal. “You do remember that if you want me to toss you around, pin you down, or do any manner of unspeakable things to you, all you need to do is ask.”

Sherlock blew out his breath before saying, “It’s not that, John. I just… need to know. “

“All, right, then.” John sighed. “No. I mean, if I dwell on it, it upsets me, but not how you’re thinking.”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed in consternation.

“It upsets me that anyone wasted your time that badly.”

“Wasted my time?”

“That they used you as a fucktoy when they could have actually had _you_ , if they were just willing to see past their own knobs. What they had was purely physical and less willing than they knew. It was a transaction. You gave them your body to have what you really wanted.”

Sherlock’s mouth opened in a slight ‘oh’ which might have been comical if their conversation weren’t so serious.  

“I _actually_ have you,” John said smugly and went back to reading.

\---

The vows, the toasts, and now even the dancing were finally done. Gone off, rather surprisingly, without a hitch. No murder in the middle of the ceremony, no hecklers (not even from the Yard). Not even any unwanted attention from their growing fanclub trying to get in on the festivities, at least none that they had noticed, (although the top notch government security did help that.)  They had arranged that presents would be delivered by one of Mycroft’s people tomorrow, so that Sherlock didn’t spend the night deducing what was in all of them or who had sent them by the shape of the bow or the choice of wrapping paper or somesuch.

Safe and snug, thoroughly celebrated and wed, they held hands as the limo took them back to Baker Street for one more surprise. Their particular relationship didn’t lend itself to anything like a traditional wedding night, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be special.

They’d only had the one conversation about collaring. The ones about marriage had gone on for a few weeks, some teasing, some serious, always pleasant. They never reached the bickering stage that some subjects achieved, so John had known from the first day that Sherlock would come around. He’d have never pressed otherwise to be honest. He liked what they had and wouldn’t risk it for anything. But he _did_ want other people to know that they belonged together and, if he was honest, the baser part of his brain still echoed _mine_ and wanted the world to know it.

It was probably that same possessive streak that sent John back to the little jewelry shop. While getting Sherlock to agree to the formality of marriage took precedence, this was what had started his thoughts down this path. He thought he’d enjoy having it just for that, but he hoped Sherlock would wear it. A necklace that would double, subtly, as his collar. Might be more practical than a wedding ring, actually. Wouldn’t get in the way of experiments. Wouldn’t be an obvious sign of marriage if he needed to flirt or pretend to court someone for a case. 

Of course they had exchanged rings during the ceremony and Sherlock would wear his, when it suited. Like now.  
John smiled, brushing his fingers over the ring on Sherlock’s finger, remembering how he had had fingered the strands of chain in his pocket all the way home, running his thumb over the smooth rope of links.

Mrs. Hudson had allowed him to stash it away in her flat, ensuring that Sherlock wouldn’t find it and ruin the surprise.

His _husband_ leaned against his shoulder and John’s smile broadened. If all had gone according to plan, the collar would lay on brand new blue silk sheets on Sherlock’s bed. Their bed now. He’d trusted only Greg with the preparations.  Anyone else would probably make all kinds of assumptions and leave gag gifts, but Greg knew them. He’d gladly helped with stag dos and all kinds of ridiculous gags for a lark, but he’d not mock this.  No idea when they’d gotten this close, but Greg was the only one who really knew how their relationship worked.

\---  
“You’re a lucky bastard,” Greg decided once, over a pint too many. “May be a cocky arse, but he has a fine one. I wouldn’t have minded a go.” After a beat, it seemed to dawn on him what he’d just said and flushed, looking simultaneously panicked and abashed. “Shit. Shouldn’t have said that.”

John laughed, “It’s fine. It is a great arse. And I am a lucky bastard. Not having a go, though.” 

“Bit rough put that way, innit. Sorry mate. I know you love him. I shouldn’t have said-- like it’s some one off...”

“No. Greg. Don’t know why I’m bothering to... I haven’t corrected anyone, really. None of their business, but we’re not… we don’t…. Well, Sherlock doesn’t, I mean, he has, but.. he’s asexual. Shit, if he’s never said, it isn’t really my place to. God, I’m pants at this. We’re close. We do other things, physically. And we love each other, so..”

“God, you… really? But you’re getting...”

“Married, yeah. Love of my life. Doesn’t matter so much in the end, when you’ve found that. Maybe it wouldn’t be enough for some people. Hell, I wouldn’t have thought it would be for me, but he’s… he’s Sherlock.” John gave a lopsided grin as though that explained everything. And really, it did.  
\---

Of course Lestrade had more questions, and the next day he made sure he’d understood properly (as pissed as they’d been, it was hard to be certain what had actually been said), but then he’d left it alone. Just taken it in stride that this worked for them. So when John asked Greg to help set up tonight, John was sure he’d do it right. 

John had been planning this alongside planning the wedding and in its own way it was just as difficult, though not public in their case. He’d looked a little at examples of formal collaring scenes, including a bunch of archaic language that Sherlock would roll his eyes at, or fancy sentimental nonsense with roses and drops of their own blood that made John laugh out loud just thinking about it. One had the sub drinking Golden Nectar as a sign of submission, which John was fairly certain he understood rightly, and that was definitely not their style. 

In the end, he’d just gone simple, just the collar and words from his heart.

“Go ahead and strip out of your suit,” John said. “I know you’ve been wanting to for at least the last hour. Wait for me here. I’ll be right back.”

He slipped away into the bedroom where he made himself a bit more comfortable. He hung up his jacket and tie and unfastened the first few buttons of his shirt, before turning to the task at hand, double-checking that everything was set. Champagne was chilling in an ice bucket by the bedside with two flutes, everything was well tidied and every surface from the bedside table to the dresser had tapers and tealights beautifully arranged in glass holders. John lit them now and they added a lovely glow to the room. He hoped Sherlock wasn’t too tired for a bit of play, but even if all he did was put the collar on, it was still a beautiful ending to their day. John glanced at the collar on the bed, appreciating the way the links glittered in the candlelight as he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, then went to fetch Sherlock. 

When John entered the sitting room, Sherlock knelt on the floor, completely bare, his wedding suit folded on the couch. His hands rested palm up on his thighs, his head lowered and a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. On his hands rested a new cane, which always been a favorite toy of theirs.

John closed the space between them and bent down to kiss Sherlock thoroughly, carding his fingers through his soft curls. Sherlock leant into the touch, sighing.

“What’s this, then?” John asked, picking up the cane. The handle was silver and fit his grip like it had been custom made. He turned it, catching the light filtering in through the windows and read, _Always yours. SH_ etched into the handle. 

“Beautiful,” John breathed. “Shall we try it out?”

“Yes, Sir.”

John buried his fingers in Sherlock’s hair, tugging at the nape of his neck, holding him in place. He tapped the tip all along Sherlock’s right thigh, then his left. He swung the cane near Sherlock, just to feel it in full swing and Sherlock tensed slightly listening to the soft whistle of it cutting through the air.

“Mmm, very nice. I think we should take this to the bedroom with us. Don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Sherlock murmured happily.

“Up you get then. Go kneel beside the bed.”

Sherlock began walking to the bedroom, but stopped in the doorway with a soft gasp. 

“Sentiment. I know,” John said, running his fingers through his own hair nervously. “Still, tonight should be special, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded and John’s slight nervousness seemed to snap him out of his thoughts, because he started walking again, kneeling beside the bed. He closed his eyes and swallowed, trying not to deduce too much and instead just give himself to John and this moment.

John strode into the room and set down the beautiful new cane and turned his attention to the collar, which he picked up delicately with both hands. He cleared his throat and gazed down at Sherlock.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up.

“Today I offered you my love and my life in front of our friends and family. Tonight is something different. This symbol is for what is ours alone and needs no other witness. I offer you my collar, an extension of the promises we’ve made. It may look to everyone else like a piece of jewelry, but we’ll know it means you are mine, like this, tied to me even when you aren’t tied up for me.”

They both chuckled a little at the ridiculous turn of phrase, before John continued, “You can wear it even when a case or experiment might require you to leave your ring behind. Do you accept it?”

Sherlock’s eyes were bright as he whispered, “Yes, Sir.”

John unclasped the chain and fastened it gently in place, then ran his fingers over it along Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock shivered slightly under the touch.

John slipped a finger beneath it and tugged gently, encouraging Sherlock to his feet and kissed him once more.

“You have energy for a bit more? I know it’s been a long day.”

Sherlock nodded, a slight smile curving his lips as he explored the texture of the chain with the pads of his fingers.

John smiled at the look of delight that played over Sherlock’s features. It felt like they’d both been smiling all day. Warmth flooded through him that they got this time too. Today had been utterly perfect.

“Alright, up on the bed. Hands and knees to start.” John picked up the new cane. “You don’t need to count today.”

As soon as Sherlock was in position, John swung, landing a stripe square across both cheeks. Sherlock’s head dropped forward and he cried out.  A second stripe landed just below. At first they were light pink, but he increased the strength as he went, an ombre of stripes decorating Sherlock’s arse until the final blow, a red welt immediately glowing just where arse met thigh. Sherlock cried out sharply at that, but sighed as John reached out to stroke soothing fingers over the welts.

John had entertained the idea of wax play with the candles, but that could wait for another day. They had their whole lives ahead of them. 

“Very good, my love. So good for me.” He kissed the small of Sherlock’s back and then said, "Come here, you.”

John poured the champagne as Sherlock settled in the bed. “To us. To this life together.” John said and they clinked glasses. They sat comfortably beside each other under the soft silk sheets and they sipped their champagne. He savored the way Sherlock always touched more after a scene, sitting close enough that their arms and thighs touched. 

“Thank you,” Sherlock said and there was weight behind the words, as though it was far more than just the scene or even the collar he was grateful for.

“And thank you.”

“I think the traditional response is ‘you’re welcome’ but I do usually defer to your judgement in the area of social niceties.”

John chuckled and said lightly, “Now, now, if you get stroppy with me I still know where the paddle is,” and it was Sherlock’s turn to laugh. 

“And now, I think we had better turn in.” He took the empty flute from Sherlock’s hand and got up to blow out the candles.

As John slid back into bed, Sherlock leant in and kissed him softly before laying his head contentedly on John’s chest. “Goodnight, sir.”

John could feel the curve of his smile against his chest and held Sherlock closer for a moment. “Goodnight, love.”


End file.
